


Palm Reader

by kaelio



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Palm Reading, Prophesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelio/pseuds/kaelio
Summary: Julian and his medical school buddies hit the town and are granted a sneak peak of the future.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 33
Kudos: 116





	Palm Reader

“I asked about my performance in the upcoming placement exam. The Andorian assignment is quite competitive.”

“Shocked. I’m just shocked, hearing that from you,” she replied. Oh, she was ribbing, but there was a certain jocularity to it.

“You know, Barko, if you’re really concerned about the placement exam, I’d recommend, like, studying? Instead? Because that’s probably going to tell you a lot more than, you know, talking to a woo-woo ‘psychic’.”

“I was participating. It was Xi’hauil who—”

“Don’t be such a jerk, Pekit. I mean, obviously prophetic powers are…. Well, no one doing palm readings is going to be ‘prophetic’, that’s a bit much. Unless there’s a Q slumming around. But now that it’s been almost completely appropriated by the Betazoid—or in this case, half-Betazoid—it’s not complete nonsense. I mean, think about it. Sure, she can’t tell the _future,_ but that empathic link, you know. Helps her sort of suss out what’s going on in your mind. Even when it was a purely Terran practice, you had people who, you know, could intuit really well. They could help visitors make sense of their own thoughts, as a springboard of sorts. Remember, humans have mirror neurons activated when—"

“Yeah, Lakisha, I passed human anatomy! No help to your freaking weird-ass follicle shit. I’m just saying, Barko’s been coming out with us every night for the last week. Only, _we_ know where we’re headed, along with ninety-nine percent of the rest of the graduating class. We’ve got our papers. He’s the one who is still putting in for all these weird assignments,” the Bolian said. “And maybe if he’s so freaked out about it, he should be, like, focusing on that instead of getting smashed with us.”

He took a deep breath. “I feel that you would not be so harsh about my ‘discovery process’ if I were not Vulcan. I feel there is a racially-motivated dimension to your aspersions. Though we are a stoic people, we do not necessarily abide by strict trajectories in our lives. We remain open to—”

She held up two blue hands. “Okay, okay! I got it, I got it!”

“I don’t really know, either,” Julian volunteered.

His tone was strange. It was, for him, somewhat reserved, but with great resolve to sound braver. Braver than he felt. And some part of it was, of course, in defense of Barko. Good friends were meant to stick together.

“What? Have you talked to Palis about that? Because, uh, last I checked, you had a whole thing set up,” Lakisha prodded.

“Well, I mean…. Right, yes. Of course. That is to say, still, I…. I put in for other assignments as well. Just in case.”

Pekit laughed. “ _Just in case_?! What the fuck, Julian? Her dad’s the chief of medicine there. Like, were you worried you weren’t going to get it? Don’t tell me you were afraid you were going to get dumped again? Stars above, dude, she’s got the ring.”

He winced. “I know. I know that. But it’s like Barko said, you don’t want to, to necessarily… box yourself in?” It ended on a faint note. “I-I mean, what if she, even, wanted something different? Falling out with her father, or….”

Barko shook his head. “Unlike you, Julian, Palis always appears deeply pleased to see her father and it is difficult to imagine them ever having, as you humans say, a ‘falling out’.”

Lakisha dropped an arm on his shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you go in there? Try it out?” She shrugged. “Even for the fun of it. I’ll do you one more; I’ll take it out of my balance. On the house.”

He swallowed. “D-don’t you want to do it too?”

“Yeah? I’ll do it once you’re done. I’ve got plenty in my credit allowance. Go for it.”

+++

There was still an assumption—maybe it was cultural—that there would be thick velvet drapes, jewel tones, and tassels thereabouts. That the lights would be low, and the presentation would veer slightly insensitive towards those who had initiated the art.

Thankfully, this was tactful. Serene and simple. There was the expected table, of course, and a crystal ball—but it seemed like more of a focal point than the magical artifact de jure. The chairs were comfortable, the surfaces tidy. And there was a woman, on the opposite end, with eyes Betazoid-black.

She smiled, graciously. “Please, do sit.”

And Julian obeyed, awkwardly—his pretzel limbs splayed over the various corners of the chair. Even the most accommodating design seemed ill-equipped to accommodate such a person, all elbows and length.

The half-Betazoid made a hand gesture towards a wall panel, and the lights did dim. “Thank you for joining me today. This palm-reading session involves physical contact. If at any time you are uncomfortable, please let me know, and I will pause or end our session. It also involves some degree of empathic insight. If that becomes uncomfortable, the same applies. Now, are you comfortable moving forward?” she asked. (Her loose, turquoise sleeves hung low; she was beautiful.)

“Y-yes, I’ve—no problem.” He licked his lips. “But, if you were to, say, chance upon something, ah, which was private—?”

“Legally, this is licensed as a form of therapy and thus entitles you to confidentiality,” she assured him smoothly. “What we do today is observe a _probable_ future. Help you uncover it, brush away the dust from a vision that you may make of yourself. That is what I will read in your palm.” She extended her own hand, palm-up. “I can tell that you have questions.”

“I _do_ have questions—”

“About yourself. You’re not as certain as you wish you were, are you?”

He pursed his lips and placed his hand in hers, consenting to the reading. “My friends thought it would do us some good. And, that is to say, what’s the harm?”

She drew herself in, allowing her eyes to pass across the naked breadth of his palm. “I won’t ask your name. You’re not sure what your name is, are you?”

He gulped.

“It doesn’t matter. Your name is not who you are. You decide your own identity, and your own future.” She quirked an eyebrow. “And that’s why you’re here today, isn’t it? Half of you _has_ decided your future. It’s written… strictly. Very strictly. More strictly than I’d assume from a young man. … And the other half rebels. It wants something different. It feels… cornered. Cornered, by the fate the other half has exacted upon it.”

(Oh, how honeyed eyes could quiver!)

“It’s all right,” she reiterated. “That’s why everyone comes here, in some fashion. You think you’ve made a choice and feel restrained by it. But the truth is, you haven’t really made that choice yet. You’re free, and you’re not sure what to make of that. You don’t feel free, do you?”

He suddenly tensed. “I-I don’t know.”

“You are. Fundamentally, you are. And I can tell you are a kind soul. I can tell that the ambition you have, is an ambition to do good. I can tell that you… _strive.”_ She pressed a thumb into his palm, kneading it there. “You strive….” (There was some confusion here.) “… You strive to do a kind of good you’re not certain you’re capable of, deep-down. There’s a lack of trust there, inside you, in your capacity to be virtuous. You’re worried that you’re only accepting the ‘obvious’ path because you think it will constrain you, regulate you. That you will be observed so carefully, so consistently, that errancy isn’t possible.”

His palm began to shine with sweat. He was sure that she could feel it.

( _There’s nothing specific,_ he told himself. _Barko would have made it clear through his inquiry that we’re Starfleet Medical students. Why, that must apply to everyone. That must describe any—_ )

“But you are also afraid that if you make the restricted choice, the collared choice, that you aren’t really good either. You’re just unable to do bad. Which isn’t the same thing. Virtue requires agency. A part of you wants to… prove something different. You want to prove you have the capacity to shine outside of a controlled environment. You don’t have a good relationship with your parents, do you?”

“No.” (Why lie?) “I… suppose I don’t.” (No mind-reader required.)

There was a genuine sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry. There is so much pain there. They do not define you. They do not possess the agency that belongs to you.”

(The first time she was surely wrong—they _had._ They _did._ )

“I have a fiancé,” he interrupted. “And she’s lovely. Lovely woman. She’s a dancer. So, wouldn’t want to, ah, to mislead you, I’m sure part of it, natural that a young man is hesitant when he’s looking, say, forty years in the future and—she, she’s perfect, though! Oh, she is perfect. Lovely, lovely calves, and feet—!” Julian puffed out his chest. “She’s beautiful. Everyone tells me she’s the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen, and I’m one to agree.”

Her deep eyes narrowed. For a palm-reader, she spent relatively little time on flesh-bound leylines. “You do care about her. But you’re also afraid of not caring about her. Because if you don’t love her perfectly, there’s something wrong with _you,_ because by all accounts, from where you’re standing, she’s perfectly perfect to love.”

“Right.”

“But you feel imperfect. Because you love her imperfectly.”

He frowned.

“You’re not really comfortable with her, are you?”

The lines of his face deepened. “I proposed, right there on the bench under the willow where we always do—ah, always meet, not always propose, obviously—and she’s got the ring and—"

“You have secrets.” Her tone was strict, sober. The entertainment aspect had been lost; what tingled in her prefrontal cortex was quite another matter. “I am not prying as to the particulars. But you are deeply troubled. You don’t just suspect she is not a safe harbor for your secrets—you know it. You feel she would be _responsible_ for not keeping your trust.”

 _This was supposed to be fun,_ Julian thought. ( _This was never going to be fun,_ a part of him, a cold, desperate part of him, whispered. _You just couldn’t tell them. You couldn’t explain why you would be afraid of a room alone with a Betazoid. Half-Betazoid._ )

She clicked her tongue, and gently let her eyes turn back to the thinnest skin of his hands. “That’s something you fear—a life where you cannot be known, or known safely. You think you may have found a life as close as it gets. But there is another part of you that is willing to risk more, try something different. There is a hopeful part of you that you are trying to suppress.”

 _But who could ever…? Anywhere in the Federation—_ he clamped it down. As well as he could.

She exhaled deeply, as if, for a moment, it was her own grief. “I see, out there,” she began, finally taking the tone of a _seer_ , and not just a coroner, “someone who understands secrets. Someone who will keep their own secrets, and in return, will keep yours.”

“That’s just about any stranger. I mean, even you’re bloody well supposed to do that,” he protested, half-inspired to pull his hand away.

“You don’t need to know someone’s secrets to know them. They don’t have to know yours. You have a right to your privacy. And you can still be known as someone, some _thing_ , far bigger than what you keep close. Because you are your choices and your values, thoughts, feelings…. The weight on your soul is not greater than its lightness.”

 _That’s h_ —

“It’s not hokey!” she snapped, deftly ending in a cough. “I’m _saying,_ ” she continued, smoothing her black hair with her opposite hand, “you cannot accept… what you fear, simply because you’re afraid of trying for what you actually want. There is someone out there who will love you for what they know, and for what they don’t.”

Julian, Jules, newly-minted _Dr. Bashir,_ dragged his tongue over his teeth. “… How can you know?”

It was an odd smile. Mysterious smile. “I’m supposed to know. I’m a fortune teller. It’s right here in your palm.”

“What are they like?”

“Strange, perhaps.”

“… Pretty?” (There was a degree of ego there.)

“You’ll think so. Maybe not right away.”

“I’m strange,” he risked.

“That’s all right. The universe has hundreds of billions of people in it, people of all kinds. If you love something strange, would it bother you? I don’t sense it would upset you.”

“No, only—”

“Why is this a place where appeasing your parents is important to you?”

“… I’m not sure.”

She waited, which was its own technique.

“It’s just, Palis….”

“Is he just an excuse?”

“She.”

“Excuse me, I apologize. Is she just an excuse?”

“Where would I go?”

Her brow furrowed. “I sense you’ve opened that door. Kept that door open, I should say. So the only question is: where do you want to go? Which place speaks to _you,_ and what you value in yourself?”

“I’m not sure if I could find someone who… meets those standards on Earth.”

( _Or in the Federation,_ she could tell.)

“Then don’t stay on Earth.”

He stared at his hand, trying to perceive whatever she could see, even knowing that was not the part of himself that spoke to a Betazoid. There was something in his culture, still, in human culture, that thought, perhaps, that central line, the “head” line, was not nearly so clear as that blasted “ _heart_ ” line, though goodness knows what it was up to—“What should I look for?”

She half-chuckled. “Someone who captivates you.”

Hardly encouraging. “No hints at all?”

(Well, he had bought the time.) She released his hands and pressed her fingers to her temples. “I see someone… clever.”

He perked, just a little.

“Adoring.”

(That sounded nice.)

“Amazed at you. Entranced by you. Revels in your body. Delights in your conversation. Someone who would follow you anywhere, no matter what you tell them, or what you don't.”

(And suddenly "nice" was, perhaps, insufficient….)

“I’m seeing colors…. Textures, flavors….” She winked. “And beautiful blue eyes.”

**Author's Note:**

> just some random drunken drabble. love to all. comments & kudos appreciated. just had this quirky little notion and thought it might be cute, who knows how it is.


End file.
